take me higher
by AnonymousCreep
Summary: Roman really should delete this number. a cathartic one-shot set after Raw 12/14/15


take me higher (tear in my heart)

It's a mystery to Roman himself why he still has this contact in his phone. He could've sworn that he'd deleted the thing months ago; almost a year prior. But as the noise from his congratulatory night on the town leave nothing but a dull buzzing settling in his bones, he realizes that he feels numb.

He's been riding an adrenaline high since Raw. With his job on the line, he's had to fight Sheamus for the third fucking time and prove to everyone that he was most definitely deserving of the Heavyweight title. He'd thought he'd already made that clear when he'd won the damn thing the first time, but one Brogue Kick and an incredibly gaudy golden suitcase later, all of that clear understanding that he'd managed to drill into his naysayer's heads had been lost, mucked up by a pasty Irishman with stupid _beard danglies._

Fucker even had his cronies come in and swoop down on Roman like the beady-eyed hawks they were in an attempt to cost him his match. And McMahon must've known they would too; he had to!

He was the one who'd stalled the referee long enough for the others to come to Sheamus' aid. There was no way it was just a coincidence.

After defeating all the odds set up against him, Roman had punched the old man out and gone on with the rest of his night, feeling so much lighter than he had days ago. He'd showered, dressed at warp-speed and gone with the twins and Dean to a bar downtown. Amidst the constant chatter from Dean and the ceaseless upbeat aura that rolled off of both Jimmy and Jey in borderline obnoxious waves, Roman still somehow found time to feel like something was…weird.

Like the balance of the ground was off, tilted slightly at an angle. Like the feeling of being watched, but less ominous. He wasn't worried about Sheamus coming for him; that wasn't it. Come Smackdown, he knew he'd have hell waiting for him on the other side of the curtain, probably in the form of Stephanie or Vince McMahon.

Maybe both.

But it wasn't a paranoid sensation. He was ready for them, come when they may. This just felt like something was out of place.

Now, when Roman looks down at the screen in the pitch black darkness of his room, he knows what it is. It's maybe three or four in the morning and, god, is he exhausted. Not just from the match he'd had earlier; the twins, god love them, have enough energy to power a small city during an electricity outage. They're constantly talking, always on the move; tonight is no different. They'd managed to bar-hop at least three bars tonight and had been mentioning a fourth when Roman had had to call it quits. Dean went with them instead, which Roman kinda finds sort of odd: he didn't know they were, y'know, close enough to be doing that sort of thing.

Maybe they're only sticking together like this tonight of all nights because they're all on a happy buzz from the alcohol. Heaven knows Dean can keep up with the two inebriated twins; he's probably entertaining them right now singing pretty badly on top of a bar table.

Puppies.

That was the only way to describe the amount of stamina all three of them had when they had a few shots in their system. Roman had always been more of the mellow drunk; no one ever knew he'd had too much to drink unless he told them. He was usually the one who was watching everyone else make a total fool of themselves, a silent sentinel by their side and making sure they didn't get themselves _too_ thoroughly fucked.

He used to have company.

Roman actually isn't sure why he got up from his halfway slumber and began seeking out this specific contact on his phone; this supposed-to-be-nonexistent contact that had hypothetically been deleted long ago. He just reaches over, nabs the phone from his bedside table and begins searching. Now that he's found it, he isn't quite sure what he's supposed to do with it.

Common sense says he should probably delete it and go back to bed. His thumb hovers over the contact, preparing to select it for termination, but then that feeling comes back, full force. That feeling that something is weird, something is off. The contact might as well have been renamed 'DANGER', because, wow, does this feel illegal. It makes Roman cringe to even entertain the thought deleting the contact, like he's about to get rid of something important. Like he's sentencing a man to death.

Remorse, perhaps?

 _You can always back out, y'know_ , a little voice says in his head then, and it's _his_ voice. It's enough for Roman to make up his mind and delete the number.

The moment his thumb makes contact with the touchscreen, the screen changes and suddenly, someone is calling him.

Too slow.

Roman stares at the caller I.D., the weird feeling suddenly gone and replaced with a new, yet equally disgusting one: disbelief, confusion, with a dash of unadulterated 'what the fuck' added in for good measure. Maybe he's a little angry too, but at what, Roman's not too sure. Maybe for calling this late? He thought he'd gotten over his anger with Seth Rollins, so it wasn't that, surely?

Roman watches the phone with deep curiousity, the unbridled interest of a small child with a lighter. It feels as such, like Roman has a lighter or some other dangerous thing in his hands: taking the call could have pretty much the same effect as lighter anyway. Burning, sparking, painful. The start of something Roman doesn't really want. Or does he?

(it can go either way)

Roman slides the screen, accepting the call just before the voicemail activates. Even with the line open, Roman just kind of…stares at the phone, like it might start doing flips and tricks in his hands if he watches it long enough. He can't hear anything on the other end; maybe they're doing the same thing wherever they are.

Getting involved was going to dreg up all kinds of feelings that weren't exactly welcomed, but given the history they had together, was that really such a bad thing? Roman remembers good times. He remembers _really_ _good_ times. But he also remembers bad ones. Does he really want a live-action remake of all of that? For fuck's sake, it had been hard enough the first go-round.

Well, Seth had called him. If there were going to be any sparks- of any kind, orientation or alignment- they were going to be ignited because of his own hand, not Roman's.

That being said, Roman brings the phone closer and utters, "hello?" into the receiver. He runs right over the identical greeting that Seth gives him on the other end, said at the exact same moment that Roman gave his, and wow, it's only been two seconds and they've already managed to fuck up everything.

Roman sighs, barely hears the sharp intake of air on Seth's end.

"Sorry," comes after. It's from Seth this time, and Roman knows he's talking about the massive screw-up that came about a few moments ago, but he likes to let his alcohol hazed mind imagine that it's for….well, everything else.

(please)

They settle into silence then, which is weird, because Seth was the one who had initiated the conversation in the first place. Instead of talking, Roman can just hear him breathing, soft and strained. He knows Seth better than the guy himself likes to think: he's nervous.

"It' four in the morning," Roman says in an attempt to get some kind of speech out of Seth. what the hell was he even doing calling Roman's number if he was just going to chicken out in the end? Roman almost demands that be answered, but Seth beats him to the punch.

"I know," he says quickly, like he could sense what was about to come his way, "I know. Sorry about that. I would've called earlier, but I figured you'd be out celebrating with Dean and I didn't really want to spoil that; although, I guess I could've called tomorrow –or I guess later today now, but I wanted to say this before the shock wore off-"

Roman's brows knit together. Seth Rollins is rambling.

"Um," Roman cuts in, and altogether, Seth is quiet again. "What are you really trying to say? Come on, spit it out: deep breaths, slow down. I don't think your brain can keep up with your mouth, big as it is."

There's a quiet woosh of air, and that's Seth laughing and sighing in relief (?)

"Yeah, sorry. I guess…what I'm saying," Seth trails off slowly. "I mean, what I called to say is, uh."

Then he sighs again.

"Congratulations," says Seth finally.

Roman is honestly shocked to hear it. He's sitting there in silence, staring into the darkness with wide grey eyes, because wow. Wow.

He clears his throat, part in order to cover his blatant shock, and says, "Wow. Was it really that hard for you to say that?"

He means it jokingly, but also he doesn't. He can clearly see Seth in his head, scratching the back of his head when he says, "Well, no. But given the current ground we're on…"

"Oh." That's really all the reason Roman needs. Later, he'll have time to ponder why that fact makes him wince. There's more silence.

"That's all," says Seth after a while. "I just wanted to say congratulations. I know it wasn't easy; but then, you've always been a fighter, huh?"

And wow, Seth needs to be stopped. Roman quickly considers hanging up, but so many thoughts are running around in his brain at the moment; he can't even think straight.

Seth must take his silence for dismissal, so he sighs, and Roman hears him say, "well, anyway. Have a good night."

"Why didn't you just text me?" Roman rushes to say. For a moment, the line is quiet, and he worries that Seth has already gone. But then he hears, "What?"

Roman releases a breath of relief he didn't know he was holding onto. "You could've just sent me a text message." He swallows and adds, "Y'know?"

"Well yeah," Seth says, slowly. Carefully. "But, maybe I wanted to tell you that face-to-face. Or I guess, with my own voice, given the circumstances. I can't really tell you how proud I am on a screen, can I?"

And he says it so easily that Roman believes him. Seth was watching his match from home. He was actually watching it and pulling for Roman to win, and he called him at four in the morning to tell him that he was proud of him.

And for some reason, he still has Roman's number.

He's quiet for so long that Seth eventually laughs quietly, and murmurs, "have a good rest of the night, champ."

Roman still hasn't deleted that contact yet.


End file.
